


Midnight

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Dementia, F/F, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-07-12 04:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: In the garden with a clouded head and clear sky, Franky thinks about the afternoon - and the memories of her time at Wentworth that come with it.





	1. Chapter 1

_“We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.”_  
_― **Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire**_

* * *

Soon enough, Bridget had finished laying out the sheets on their bed and let out a satisfied breath of air. They looked neat and cosy, and she touched them again, just to make sure they were properly dry. There was a coolness to them, having been out to dry on the line in the breeze for a good couple of hours but they weren’t damp. They’d no doubt warm up soon enough once they’d been snuggled under by two people for a while.

She sauntered her way back into the kitchen area, noticing Franky’s figure perched on the decking; knees bunched to her chest holding up her chin, whilst she dug at the earth with a wonky stick. The grass in their garden that they’d scowled at that damn cat for clawing up for so long, where now, it would just be kind of hypocritical to tell him off for it again. Truth be told, Bridget didn’t really care. She’d redo it eventually when she had the time and when she could be bothered to. It didn’t stop Alan lovingly pestering them both about it; always sliding in his request to do it for them at any chance he got. Bless that man.

Bridget’s main concern right now, though, was Franky. She looked low. In fact, she looked like a lost child sitting alone in a primary school playground. When Bridget arrived back from work earlier in the evening, it made a surprise to find Franky unfocused and wandering about their home with her head stuck in the stormy clouds. She didn’t have much to say during dinner – what’s more, she barely even touched her food. After poking bits of lettuce around her plate for half an hour in a tense trance, the ex-jailbird had declared she’d be “back soon” to “get some air.” Bridget left her to it and went away to occupy herself with the washing, trying to keep her mind distracted from worry. When Franky was met with a downcast episode, she usually buried her head into a book or gave her fists a punchbag reunion. “Getting some air” didn’t always mean the literal outside world and Bridget presumed she hadn’t meant that this time.

The blonde shook her head gently at the door, eyes still fixed on Franky, and smiled at her own small misconception. This time Franky had meant it and Bridget couldn’t blame her. It was a gorgeous night with only the slight chirps and hums of native insects under the moonlight and twinkling balls of gas, millions of miles away.

Quietly, she busied herself with the kettle and took a quick glance at the oven clock. 11:47 pm. She figured four hours would have been more than long enough to let her partner stew in her thoughts.

After Bridget had mixed the few ingredients of tea in two mugs together, she grabbed them both by the handles and carefully made her way out of the French doors to be met with the sweet zephyr of the night.

She felt her shoulders relax when Franky’s neck twisted back with a smile worn to her lips. Bridget politely returned one and gently handed over a mug. “Thought you could do with a cuppa,” she said when Franky carefully took it from her.

“Thanks,” the brunette said, resting out her knees and cautiously letting the hot drink meet her lips. She grimaced quickly after swallowing it down. “Think you got em’ mixed up, Gidge,” She pointed out before Bridget quickly apologised and swapped them over. It was far too sugary for Franky’s taste and she could never help but slightly scowl whenever she witnessed Bridget dumping many small mountains of the tiny, white lumps into her mug.

Tentatively, the blonde broke the silence once again. “You’ve been quiet tonight, darling. Everything okay?”

Franky’s lips quirked into a short-lived smile and a quick nod made the response. “Yeah,” she voiced, a little far from the truth but not exactly a blatant lie. “Just been thinking,” she added.

Earlier in the day, she’d been to Wentworth to visit Liz as a humble surprise and a tick off the older woman’s bucket list. Bridget began to wonder if being back at that place had stirred up any unwanted memories and, well, that wouldn’t really be unlikely. As much as Franky loved her girls, there was something haunting about those gates that any tiny, prescribed and packaged drugs in silver foil couldn’t save her from the night sweats. It wasn’t like watching a creepy movie, or listening to In the House, In a Heartbeat in shrouded darkness on the one off. Bulletproof skin could block out the sticks and stones, but it doesn’t stop morbid thoughts and memories from creeping inside your head to remain like indelible ink.

“How was Liz? Bridget asked because if she didn’t, Franky would keep it to herself and crumble away in the distance for a long while. She couldn’t bring herself to witness that and let her suffer, no matter how difficult the subject may be to bring up right now. “Better?”

“Worse,” Franky said in a fractured croak and dropped her gaze to watch the tea in her palms lap the sides of the cup in a gentle motion. She wasn’t going to let herself dodge the question and fabricate an excuse for why she felt so low. It was well past that time in her life. Bridget replied with a devastated noise.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered and pressed a caring hand to her back. She hopelessly prayed it made any difference because no matter how much cellophane Franky knifed through in her life, another hurdle of shit always managed to find its way back onto her path. When Bea passed, the brunette barely made a whimper. She went numb for days with slack emotions and said little to nothing about it. It wasn’t even that long ago they’d heard about poor Kaz’s fate, and fuck, Franky didn’t properly know the woman but learning about the tragedy hit her like a 7ft wave of sadness that served yet another reminder of just how much sheer luck the ex-con had somehow been blessed with.

But Liz wasn’t just a friend or an acquaintance. She was a mother to Franky. A real, proper mother.

“I got there,” Franky began, her voice wobbling with sadness and unshed tears. She looked straight ahead as she talked. “She sat down opposite me and…We talked for a bit, not long. But she forgot who I was.” She brushed away a stray tear and exhaled a shaky breath before her eyes finally landed on Bridget. Even in the darkness between them, the blonde could make out small pools of wetness clouding the twinkling greenery and sclera of her eyes. It would indeed have made a breath-taking sight, if only she got a second longer to look before Franky blinked them away so hastily.

“So, uh, Boomer’s, um…Booms’ is gonna keep looking out for her until her parole. I thought she was getting better but it turns out not.”

Without hesitation, Bridget’s hand clasped onto Franky’s and she gave it a squeeze. “You know,” she said swinging her head back to gaze at the beautifully clear sky. “It’ll be hard to see it right now but you remembering Liz for exactly who she is something she would really appreciate. You and Boomer, she means to most to you both and I know it’s horrible knowing there’s nothing you can do for someone you care so much about but you’re always going to have those memories of her you can cherish.” Bridget soothingly ran her fingers through the strands of Franky’s hair. “I know I’m no good at…” she respired exhaustedly in an apologetic offering. “I know any advice, if you can call it that, might seem pretty useless right now, but I want you to know I’m here for you,” the blonde continued. She benevolently left a chaste kiss on Franky’s rosy cheek, hoping she wasn’t cloying her with a cheesy excess of hollow sympathetic words. When the brunette lifted her head though, any anxious thought of that fled Bridget’s head.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Franky whispered in gratitude and let her mouth form a smile. A diplomatic sigh escaped her lips before she held her breath to say, “I fucking love ya. I feel like I don’t say it as often as I should, Gidge, but I really do. I don’t wanna lose ya.”

“It’s okay,” Bridget whispered in a dulcet voice. “I’m here. I love you too.”

“But I, uh,” Franky’s voice faltered but she continued on. For some reason, her hesitation tugged at Bridget’s heart. “I’ve been thinking a lot and I suppose I always put it off when it actually came to asking ya…” She moved gingerly, loosened her grip on Bridget’s hand and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. Ignoring the sudden sharp prickle in her atrium, Franky left the mug of tea to stand on the grass before she stood to her feet, pulling Bridget with her.

The paralegal’s jaw tensed when she felt Bridget’s questionable gaze fixate on her. “Um…” Franky started, quaveringly. She found herself fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeve because _shit._ She’s stalling again. “Do you trust me?”

The blonde nodded in whole confidence with a comforting smile that allowed Franky to feel more at ease before she probably ended up fucking barfing from flies ripping apart her gut. For a short moment, the brunette wavered in thought before an idea clicked above her head.

“Close your eyes?” she requested, and it only took a second for Bridget to oblige. Franky took her palms and gently splayed out the blonde’s left hand. A bemused crease etched the psychologist’s brow as she pondered what her girlfriend was up to.

After a quick rustling of what Bridget presumed was Franky’s jacket, it was very soon that she felt something cool and metal sliding onto her finger. Her eyes peeled open in surprise as she dropped them to the impeccably fitted band around her skin.

“It’s abrupt and I know we haven’t talked about it. We don’t have to make a decision now, I don’t wanna rush things.” Hearing Franky thoughtfully ramble through her words was somewhat mellifluous for Bridget. “But today’s just made me see everything in front of me properly and reminded me what I’ve got. I don’t want it to end ever.” She shrugged pitifully. “But I know that’s naïve,” Franky said with a tremulous snort.

“I –”

“Think about it?” Franky asked, in such a pleading way, it had the energy to permanently rupture any level-headed disposition Bridget had developed throughout her life. Of course she’d fucking think about it. Shit, she’d do more than just that. If she wasn’t so utterly astounded right now, she’d probably fall into Franky’s shoulder and weep in thought about just how far they had come since the little smile through the slot door glass pane three years ago.

“I’ll think about it,” Bridget said in a promised rasp.

Franky’s woes fluttered away from her shoulders in a single beat. “Good,” Franky beamed – dimples pinching her cheeks. “Good, cause I reckon you’d make a pretty fucking stellar wife,” she chuckled, cupping Bridget’s cheeks and pressing their noses together.

After a minute or so, the two embraced in a tight hug and swayed to the night breeze and jingle of the garden windchime. “Want to come inside for a proper drink?” Bridget asked, suddenly remembering the freshly made bed and feeling her weight lean into the strength of Franky’s arms.

“Shit yeah,” Franky husked sensually and followed Bridget across the blades of grass under the midnight sky, through the patio doors and into her safe haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the first part of Siege has ruined me. Even in the sad nature of these scenes, seeing Franky’s face was like a little sunshine brought into the episode. Thanks WW writers and thanks Nic and Celia for such a heartfelt scene! On a side note, I began this a few months ago and someone requested the idea on tumblr. Any feedback is appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my very poor attempt at humour here. I wanted it to have an element of lightheartedness. This might be a little disjointed/rushed because this work was never intended to be anything more than a one-shot but here we are. I apologise in advance for any grammatical/tense issues. I didn't send this to my BETA reader who is on a break at the moment. Hope you enjoy!

Franky slouched back in her chair and rotated lazily. She was almost done with Lawson Morris’ case report and there was still three hours on the clock. When there weren’t many clients to see, the shift always dragged at a snail’s pace and she wouldn’t usually allow herself to complain. This job was everything and beyond – but there was just something about Wednesdays in particular that never really felt exciting. Exciting was an interesting word to come to mind when Franky really thought about it. Most people would drag themselves out of bed, load up on coffee, clock in and dream in bliss of when the time came to clock out so that they could cart off home in hopes of avoiding the rush hour. But not Franky. Or, at least, that never _used_ to be Franky. Wednesdays never used to feel like this either, but then again, nothing stays the same.

She rested her chin in her hand and fiddled around with the empty stapler. She scrunched old sticky notes into rough little balls and tossed them into the bin – or near enough, at least. She rooted around in her desk draws only to find nothing of interest. She messed around with the printer’s settings and cursed when it spurted out a bunch of errors and warnings. Oh fuck it, the thing always needed repairs anyway. Franky often wondered why the workplace didn’t just outright invest in a batch of brand-new printers if it could save costs in the long run...In theory. When Franky glanced back at the clock, she’d found only a whopping four minutes had passed.

She yawned and caught sight of her work colleague, Mel, pacing around the place with her face split in two with a broad smile. The younger woman, with a bunch of folders in her arms, stopped at the threshold of the room just by the door – the door that Franky never felt comfortable closing unless speaking to a client. Otherwise, she felt too cooped in, stuck with her own demeaning thoughts.

Franky regarded her with a slight brow raise. “What are doing walking around with a shit-eating grin for?” She said.

As if containing secrets bold enough to make one burst, Mel spurted into the room and carefully placed down the seven chunky files atop of Franky’s desk. She grabbed her phone from the top of the pile and giddily unlocked it to source the thing that made her excitement tenfold.

The phone was shoved into Franky’s field of view and her eyes were forced to squint to adjust to the brightness of the device. It was a photo of a man. More specifically, a man just short of six foot. Brioni suit. Rolex watch. Baller. He could pass as a younger DiCaprio twin if you looked hard enough. Quite obviously Mel’s preference, but that wasn’t exactly surprising. The pseudo-intellectual types had hopeless, little Melanie like steel to a magnet.

“What do you think?”

“I think he has expensive tastes in fashion,” Franky said.

Mel let out a scoff and parked her arse down on Franky’s desk. It was already weak and worn enough as it was…One day, it would be on its last straw.

A moment passed and the quietness irritated Franky.

“So, what’s the story? Where did you find him? I know you’re waiting for me to ask, Mel, you have a shit poker-face.” She caved in and forced it out, pushing aside the very little interest she had on the subject matter. And in defence, she was restless and so bored it was numbing. She was that low on sleep hours, she could practically hear the crankiness oozing out of her voice and if she didn’t make the effort to simmer it soon, Franky knew Mel would ask.

The woman squealed and began to tell her series of events. “So, my cousin Sam’s mate Hannah got invited to this party that was in this, like…This really, old, posh house,” Mel’s eyes narrowed as she paused to envision it. “Anyway, this invite she got, well, it was an invite PLUS one and she asked me. Well, I didn’t know at first, cause, you know, loads of people were going and I didn’t know any of them. Eventually, I said I’d go but I’d only gone out shopping for something to wear before Hannah told me it was fairy-tale dress code!”

Franky’s eyebrows pushed together in genuine amusement and a smile crept up her lips. “Lots of people, invites only, plus ones and a strict dress code…?” She listed off. “Sounds like a massive, high-class swingers sex party.”

“It was!”

Franky very nearly snorted. “You what?” She chocked.

“Well, I think it was…” Mel frowned before she lowered her voice and leaned closer to Franky, “There was, like…Waiters and things, handing out champagne on silver trays and all stuff like that.”

“Yeah, was probably a sex party.”

“And there were loads of people going into these different rooms and Hannah told me not to go in any, so I didn’t.”

“It was definitely a sex party. Fucking hell, Christ, Mel, how do you even end up in these places?” Franky asked, suppressing her laughter.

“Well I don’t know; it was Hannah who got the bloody invite. ‘Sides, I’m not complaining.” Mel brought her voice to a whisper again. “Should’ve seen the fucking place, Franky. I mean, it was huge. And everyone was really lovely, as well.”

A small gush of air escaped Franky’s nose. “Yeah, I bet they fucking were…”

“And then I saw him,” Melanie sighed, smiling away at the invisible painting of the scenery. “I managed to talk to him, and he gave me his number but an hour later he was gone,” she said.

“Sure he didn’t sneak off into a room with four other people for a game of Twister?” Franky air quoted the game.

“Fuck off! He was staff,” Mel defended.

“Who did you go dressed as?”

“Rapunzel…Obviously,” Melanie said with a smirk, wafting her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t go as Snow White. Fucked if I had to do it with seven dwarves!” She creased loudly, throwing her head back. Franky just swallowed and grimaced.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” The older woman said before she rested back in her chair. She lazily reached for a pencil to roll between her fingers.

“Maybe, but who doesn’t like to end up at weird sex parties and bump into the man of their dreams. Or woman, whatever. Hey, if I somehow get lucky one day, maybe you can help me out…” Her head tilted to regard to the ring on Franky’s left hand.

“Hm?” She echoed, zoned out and absentminded.

“You know…Wedding tips and all that?”

“Oh,” The older woman stuttered, “Yeah. Sure.”

“God, I love weddings,” Mel said dreamily with excitement bubbling up within her. “Have you picked the flowers?”

“No –”

“What about dresses? When my cousin got married, she left it only a week before the big day to go and try on the dress she liked, only to find out she couldn’t fit into it. Absolute fucking nightmare. She got another but it only ended making her look like a bloody virgin hooker. She was mortified.”

“Well –”

“What about the venue? Have you sorted that out?”

On the cusp of annoyance, Franky inhaled sharply. Mel was a great friend, in small doses. Yet it seemed sometimes her ‘full on’ personality had the older woman feeling like she was on an endless, looping roller-coaster. Alas – today Franky’s patience was a little shorter than usual and having questions rapidly fired at her wasn’t helping to lift her spirits.

“Fuck, Mel, I only asked her the other night.”

“I know, but…” She shrugged. “Some people just know exactly what they want, don’t they?”

Dropping the pencil, Franky sighed and stared at her ring. “I don’t mind what Bridget wants. I’d marry her anywhere,” she said quietly.

Mel cooed and pinched Franky’s pink cheek before her hand was slapped away. After a chortle, she pressed her lips tightly together and turned serious. “You seem tired today,” she pointed out. “You good?”

There it was. Franky’s mouth twisted into a knowing smile. “Yeah, cause while you were out getting rooted, I was babysitting a five-year-old that thinks I’m joking when I say it’s bedtime.”

“Rooted? Fuck off,” Melanie swatted her arm in jest. She stacked her folders neatly together and bunched them to her chest. “Well, I best get these to Imogen before she gets pissed off at me. Again.”

“Yeah, piss off then, can’t you see I’m up to my eyes in work,” Franky joked and slowly spun in her chair. Melanie gave her a sarcastic smile before she headed out, closing the door behind her.

“Oh, Vera,” Bridget said in surprise. She opened the door further and offered the woman in. Curtly, Vera followed Bridget into the kitchen area of the bungalow with an anxious look embarked on her face.

“Sorry about the mess,” the psychologist apologised, gesturing to the dining table that had colouring crayons scattered all over it. She headed towards the cupboard to fetch a couple of mugs, “We had Tess staying over last night, I still haven’t cleared up yet. How’ve you been since everything? All we’ve been seeing on the news is Wentworth.”

“Well, I’m, uh, still a bit sore, you know,” Vera laughed gently. “I left her with Jake so I could come over.”

“Ah, right.”

Arms loosely folded, Vera didn’t sit. The smile fell from her face and was replaced with a look of anxiety again. “Is, um…Is Franky in?”

“She’s at work but she should be home in a couple of hours,” Bridget chirped until she paused in her movements when she read the sternness radiating from Vera.

“Oh, okay. It’s just I’ve…I have something I need to talk to her about regarding Liz,” Vera admitted sadly.

Woefully, Bridget pressed her lips together and brought a hand to the bridge of her nose. “When?” She asked. Vera looked to the floor and kept her eyes on the fluffy feline that was sauntering around the kitchen island.

“Um, yesterday. Her family have been informed, as you can imagine her kids are very upset.”

“Oh, that’s dreadful. Franky will be devastated,” Bridget sighed, and Vera nodded understandably. “Was she peaceful at least?”

“From what I was told, yes, she seemed peaceful. The women had a memorial for her this morning. The thing is, she’d, um, she’d had a stroke and, well…That’s what complicated things.”

Bridget rested a hand on her chest as a wave of sadness hit her. “Is that what took her?”

Vera unfolded her arms. Her mouth twitched a little and she wasn’t quite sure how to put what she was about to say next. “No. That’s what’s complicated.”

Imogen knocked gently on Franky’s door and popped her head in to find the paralegal clicking and typing away. Franky’s eyes left the monitor and found her boss.

“Franky, do you have a minute?”

Imogen’s demeanour didn’t usually appear so serious unless someone fucked up big time. “Oh no,” Franky said, grinning freely until it quickly vanished. “Don’t tell me I forgot to redact the document again?” She could’ve smacked herself on the head. She did that once before, a while ago, with Erin Begley’s affidavit before getting her arse booted by Strathairn’s polished shoe for making such a rookie mistake. Even at the point of stress Franky had hit from the Pennisi fiasco, she was taken aback by her utter foolishness.

“Oh, no, that’s fine, it’s ready to be lodged,” Imogen assured as she cautiously walked closer to Franky. The relief on the paralegal’s face became very evident.

“What’s up?” She asked.

Imogen bit her lip gently. “You need to get home.”

Franky frowned and shrugged. She almost looked slightly offended. “Why?”

The older woman offered a small smile that instantly read as a sympathetic one to Franky. The paralegal’s shoulders tensed up at Imogen’s quietness.

“Bridget called. She’d tried getting through to you, but she just got voicemail.”

“Shit!” Franky muttered and eyed up her dead phone. “Well, is she alright?”

“She’s fine, Franky, it’s just a delicate matter,” Her boss reasoned.

With an uneasy sigh, Franky collected her keys from her desk and logged out from the computer.

In observance, Imogen said, “Um, look, don’t…Worry about your shift tomorrow, I’ll do my best to cover it.”

The younger woman shot her a perplexed look as she shimmied her arms into her jacket. “Well, can you at least tell me what this is about?” She asked; a pit of anxiety forming in her stomach. Truth was, she had the sneaking suspicion she knew exactly what it was about and refused the thought full, explicit access to form clearly in her mind. The world was beginning to whirl, and her heart thumped a marathon. It was like a balloon had inflated in her throat making everything swollen and achy.

“No, Franky,” Imogen said softly while she watched the woman slip her satchel over her shoulder. “You just need to get home,” she repeated.

When Franky tentatively slipped through the door to the bungalow, Bridget and Vera rose to their feet as if the chairwoman had finally stepped into the meeting. The paralegal exchanged a wavering look between the two women before she knelt to greet the purring pet that was rubbing his head against her trousers.

“Hey mate,” Franky murmured, giving him a stroke. She strolled to drop her keys on the dining table with a clatter and slid out of her satchel and jacket. Bridget and Vera shared glances as if to question which would be appropriate, out of the two of them, to speak first.

“Hey babe,” Bridget started and approached her fiancée. “Uh, how was work?” Flustered and avoiding eye contact, Franky swept a hand through her brown hair before she raised her arms out at her sides.

“What’s going on?” She insisted. Her tone was a little too abrasive at the edges than she would’ve liked with an otherwise clear head, but Franky detested surprises. They scared her to the core, and she knew whatever the fuck this was, it wasn’t good. Why Vera was sat there too, she couldn’t quite piece together.

Bridget bit her lip and took Franky by the hand to usher her over to the couch. All colour drained from the paralegal’s face, she sat on the edge of the seat and waited for someone to begin.

Vera swallowed and straightened her posture. It occurred to her that Franky hadn’t yet fully acknowledged her presence and she realised how ‘formal’ and apprehensive it must’ve felt for the woman.

“Franky, I’m really sorry but Liz passed away yesterday.” For a moment, Vera studied Franky’s opaque pace for any indication of how she was feeling. It was possible it wouldn’t properly sink in for a while. Airily, yet still with a bleak expression, Franky left the couch to pace around the living space.

Aloofly, Vera continued in a soft voice. “She’d suffered a stroke.”

“Oh,” Franky said. Her back sagged against the kitchen island. She kept her face muted and nonchalant while her sad eyes fell to the floor.

“The women held a memorial for her this morning,” Vera added. Franky turned away to glance out of the French doors into the garden with her hands behind her back.

“I should visit Boomer,” Franky decided.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible for a while. She’s in the slot.” Vera said regrettably to the back of Franky’s head. To that, the woman spun back around.

“What for? She hasn’t been in for ages.”

Vera stood to cautiously approach the woman; eyes earnest and full of sincerity. “It is possible, that, um, Liz asked Boomer to perform an act of kindness.” Instantly, Franky’s entire posture changed. Her eyes narrowed sceptically.

“How’d you mean?” She questioned.

The other woman pursed her lips. She opened her mouth to speak but Bridget had come to her rescue.

“Will was told that some time ago, Liz had asked Boomer to end her suffering, if it ever came to a point where she wouldn’t be able to carry out everyday tasks,” Bridget explained with a forlorn smile.

A curse escaped Franky’s mouth. She brought a hand to rub her forehead. “Wh- How did she _do_ it?” She asked – head spinning like a trapeze.

“Before Liz was ready to be processed into the psych unit, Boomer shared a moment with her, before she…Well, she used a cushion. She was unaware that was CCTV right above her.” Vera needn’t explain more. A storm clouded Franky’s face like a great surge of anger. Unsure, Bridget felt the sudden need to rush and calm her future wife though the woman had already begun to speak again.

“So…” She started, the word wobbly and either weak with shock or unsteady with rage. Perhaps a combination of the two. Vera wasn’t sure which direction she was about to go in, but she knew there was a chance she wasn’t prepared. “You’re telling me Liz wanted her life to end, Booms does her the favour and now she’s in a deep pit of shit?” Franky could hardly believe it.

Vera’s face twitched with sympathy. “I believe Boomer,” She felt the need to point that out, even if it was a little on the nose. She could tell that it gave at least some sense of ease to Franky, however. “Unfortunately, with no proof of what she’s claiming but clear evidence of what she’s done…” The woman shrugged hopelessly. “There’s not a lot working in Boomer’s favour.”

Frustratedly, Franky huffed and cast her eyes back to the outside world. “This is bullshit. I’m not leaving her stuck there, this isn’t what Liz would’ve wanted. I’m seeing her as soon as she’s out the slot.”

“I’ll keep you updated on anything further,” Vera promised, sharing a look between Franky and Bridget. “Both of you.” Franky nodded gently in response. It was a thankful one, but Vera noticed her bottom lip tremble. She contemplated saying the next sentence that came to her head. “I’m really sorry about your loss.”

Soon after, Vera decided it was best to make herself scarce. Led by Bridget to the door, she kept her voice low. “I hope she’ll be okay,” She said, coming to realise just how fond she had become of Franky over the past few months. Definitely not the best of friends, much like herself and Bridget, but near enough.

“She’ll be right,” Bridget reassured. “I’ll be there for her.”

“Course you will,” Her friend said, confidently. The two embraced tightly for a little while before they each pulled away.

“Oh, congratulations, by the way,” Bridget smiled.

“Thank you. Oh, you too,” Vera laughed, nodding to the engagement ring on Bridget’s hand. “When you called and told me, I couldn’t quite believe it.”

The blonde let out a joyful sigh. “I couldn’t either,” She beamed. “When we get the chance, we’ll stop by – come visit properly.”

Vera’s face lightened. “That would be nice. But let me finish the nursery first,” she chuckled.

When Bridget returned to the living area a couple of minutes later, she found Franky slouched on the couch. Her head was resting lazily on her arm and she was in a trance.

“Franky?”

“Hm?”

Bridget joined her fiancée on the space next to her. “Are you okay?” She asked. Silly question but considerate, at least. Franky broke her gaze away from the thin air and turned to Bridget; green eyes meeting blue ones.

“I’m always okay,” She responded in a dry, hollow lie. She did her best to make it sound convincing. Franky didn’t want Bridget busying her mind with worry over this. Bridget outreached a hand to caress Franky’s face. As always, her cheek was warm and soft.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“She was my mum. She put me right.” The paralegal’s eyes were glassy, and her vision was mildly obstructed from it. “I only saw her the other day. She didn’t deserve this shit, you know? She deserved to get out. Be with her kids. And Boomer? Fuck…” Her voice faltered as she blinked to the ceiling. “I’m getting her out of this shit,” She swore. Franky’s shoulders relaxed once she fell to silence and as always, Bridget was there; patient and caring. It ripped holes in Franky’s heart. She often felt undeserving of this lifestyle and pondered what her life would be on an alternative track. She idea was shuddering and extremely uninspiring at the very best.

“I know,” Bridget nodded. “And I’ll be right with you.” Her fingers brushed through the strands of Franky’s smooth hair. She couldn’t help but smile at her nobility. Her strength. Bridget knew she was an extremely lucky woman and she allowed a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth.

Franky inhaled sharply and sniffed and blinked away any unshed tears. She would cry it out – and probably will soon later. But not now. Lizzie wouldn’t want to see her like this. Kind, caring, considerate and once sharp as a pin Liz would want Franky to smile. Remember. Thrive. She looked to Bridget solemnly and clasped her left hand.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” Bridget murmured; heart thudding so fast and loud in her ears, she could’ve sworn Franky would be able to hear it. The woman’s face broke into a billion-watt grin that had no limits. She seemed to be caught between that and an agreeable laugh before she brought the hand to her lips. A warm kiss was left on Bridget’s knuckle and it was indeed inevitable, for certain and unconditionally guaranteed that Franky could not wait either.

They sat there for a while. They talked, snuggled and Bridget held Franky when she cried. She kissed her skin and let her grieve. Then later, Franky drawled on every single humorous, sorrowful and uplifting memory of Liz she could think of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have totally benefited from re watching Siege Part Two here but.... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated!


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